People of the Earth (65 page)

 
          
 
Bad Belly winced and waited for the yell of
discovery. The voices receded. He glanced up to see if the way was clear and
lurched to his feet. He raced for the shadow of the next lodge and peered
around the side of the shelter.

 
          
 
A man and woman stood before a large lodge in
the middle of the camp. A cold shiver played down Bad Belly's spine. That would
be the Spirit Man's lodge—the place where they kept the Wolf Bundle. The tall
man took a hobbling step, awkward because of his bad leg. He said something in
Sun People talk and the woman started back toward the fire.

 
          
 
Then the man looked down, talking to a bound
captive Bad Belly could barely see. Bad Belly couldn't understand the words,
but he recognized White Ash's frightened pleading when she responded. His
stomach knotted.

 
          
 
The lame man pulled his long shirt over his
head and let it drop. Then he unlaced his leggings and kicked them loose.
Dancing and singing rose from the people around the fire.

 
          
 
What now? How do I do this? Bad Belly stared
up at the night sky, searching for lightning or some other sign from Power.
That sort of thing always happened in the legends. The stars twinkled forlornly
against the velvet sky, but nothing more.

           
 
The lame man had raised his hands, calling out
to the night sky. The background Singing rose in volume.

 
          
 
“And I’ll bet his soul glows green to Spirit
eyes," Bad Belly growled under his breath. The lame man lowered himself to
the pile of bedding before the lodge.

 
          
 
Bad Belly sucked a deep breath and scuttled
forward. For once, luck stayed with him. He didn't fall over his feet, didn't
step on anything, and didn't make a sound on the trampled grass of the looted
camp.

 
          
 
Walking like a ghost, he felt his way along
the back of the Spirit man's lodge and around the side. He listened to the
strange Sun People talk. White Ash's desperate pleas pained his soul.

 
          
 
I’m coming, White Ash. Hold on!

 
          
 
How did he get around the lodge without
stepping out into the firelight? A pain shot up as he stubbed his toe.

 
          
 
Bad Belly reached down to discover what he'd
kicked . . . and grinned. He grasped one of the stakes that pegged the lodge
cover to the ground and twisted it loose, then another, and another. When he
flopped on his stomach to wiggle under the cover, the stone wood thumped him on
the head again—right where the first lump still throbbed.

 
          
 
Shaking his head, Bad Belly squirmed
forward—only to have the pack snag on the lodge cover. He twisted and snared
himself in the pack string. He twisted the other way and slipped free of the
pack before crawling under the flap. Winding fingers into the strap, he pulled
the pack after him.

 
          
 
Creeping to the door flap, Bad Belly peered
out. There lay White Ash. The firelight danced off her firm flesh, shining on
her full breasts and glinting in the thick mat of her pubic hair. The warrior
lay next to her, laughing softly. White Ash had her eyes fixed on a tripod to
one side. Bad Belly glanced—and froze. He could sense the presence of the
object silhouetted there. Peace—a familiar awareness of Power and
Tightness—settled on his soul.

 
          
 
The lame warrior ran possessive hands over
White Ash's trembling body, then lifted himself and yanked her knees apart.

            
Fight him! White Ash, why don’t
you…But he could see the way her pants were knotted around the thong at her
ankles.

 
          
 
The lame warrior rolled over, covering White
Ash. A miserable sob caught in her throat.

 
          
 
No! He can’t! I won't let him! Bed Belly
ducked through the flap—only to have his pack again catch on the cover when he
stood too quickly. He lost his balance, tore himself loose of the shaking lodge
cover, and tumbled with a grunt at the head of the bedding.

 
          
 
"Bad Belly!" White Ash gasped.

 
          
 
The lame man rolled off her, starting to his
feet, his voice angry.

 
          
 
Bad Belly's fingers touched something cool. On
instinct, he leaped forward as the man filled his lungs to shout. With all the
might in his good arm, Bad Belly ripped the stone wood from the pack and
whacked the closest target in reach: the lame man's knee.

 
          
 
The warrior crashed down with a strangled
groan, and Bad Belly scrambled after him. The furs slipped beneath him and he
rolled. The man's grasping hand caught in the stone-tooth necklace. Bad Belly
shied back and cocked his arm. In his awkward position, he couldn't muster the
power he needed. Two things happened: Power discharged in the very air,
standing Bad Belly's hair on end, and his blow glanced off one side of the
man's head. The lame warrior ripped the necklace from Bad Belly's neck as he
rolled violently away. A hideous gargling sound issued from the warrior's
throat as he clutched his head, heedless of the necklace twined in his frantic
fingers.

 
          
 
"Bad Belly, hurry!" White Ash
floundered in the bedding. The Broken Stone warrior writhed and gasped as Bad
Belly reached into his pack and grabbed one of the sharp
chert
flakes he carried. He fumbled for White Ash's feet and found the thong. Cutting
it with one hand wasn't easy, especially with the pants in the way, but at last
it was done.

 
          
 
"Roll over. Quick!" he ordered and
sawed frantically at the bonds on her wrists until they parted. "Come on,
let's get out of here."

           
 
Pulling White Ash, he started for the
darkness, then felt the surge of Power. The Wolf Bundle.

 
          
 
"Run!" He pushed her ahead and
snatched up the Bundle. A tingling shot through him as his fingers dimpled the
thick leather. The edges of his vision faded, going dark. All he could see was
the heart-shaped Bundle. It glowed, as though a fire burned within it. The glow
spread up Bad Belly's hands and arms until it engulfed his entire body in a
flaming wash of light. In the depths of his thoughts he heard a din of frantic
voices: 'The new Keeper has come! We've been waiting for you, Still Water,
waiting for you to take Us away from here. Don’t wait! Go. Get out!''

 
          
 
White Ash gasped and clutched her throat. Her
eyes went over Bad Belly as though she, too, saw the fire that radiated from
his flesh. "Hurry!" she hissed. Then she sprinted for the trees and
the covering darkness.

 
          
 
Bad Belly took a last glance at the warrior
rolling in the grass. The sight would haunt his Dreams. The lame man pounded
his head with both fists, whimpering as if stakes had been driven through his
skull.

 
          
 
Bad Belly wheeled and raced after White Ash.

 
          
 
Left Hand slipped down the elk trail with no
more noise than an owl's shadow in moonlit grass. To either side the trees
loomed darkly against the night sky. Here and there through the canopy of
jet-black fir trees patches of stars glimmered.

 
          
 
Close. We got to be close. As if to match his
thoughts, the sound of voices raised in Song carried on the night air. Yes,
there to the northeast. He knew where he was now. He could circle to the west,
head north, and loop around, coming in from the direction the Sun People had
come. There would be fewer warriors to deal with that way. The Singing grew
louder.

 
          
 
"Victory Dance," he whispered under
his breath. The thought sickened him. What had gone wrong? Where had they made
their mistake? Why hadn't the Dreamers seen this coming?

 
          
 
He pinched his eyes shut as if he could
squeeze the anguish from his soul. Had the Wolf Bundle deserted the People? Had
the whole world turned on them?

 
          
 
Left Hand glanced back over his shoulder and
froze. A bit of white shifted in the darkness. His grip tightened on his
atlatl
, the only weapon he had left. The spot of white
stopped short.

 
          
 
Left Hand crouched, balanced on the balls of
his feet. He stood where the shadows obscured his outline. Come on. Come
closer, you maggot-sucking . . .

 
          
 
The white moved in silence and paused again,
as if uncertain.

 
          
 
A shiver played over Left Hand's hot flesh.
Did the stalker see in the dark? Or did he have some sort of sense, some sort
of Power? Left Hand gritted his teeth. Too much Power had gone wrong already.

 
          
 
The white moved again, and Left Hand cocked
his head. Something about it. Much too low. A man would be taller, but in the
darkness he couldn't really tell.

 
          
 
Not a skunk! But then, that might not be bad.
Skunk smell might work for him. A vigilant warrior who heard something in the
night might ignore it if he smelled skunk.

 
          
 
The white came closer, and Left Hand raised
his
atlatl
. The white spot backed away.

 
          
 
"What are you?" Left Hand called
softly. "A Spirit?"

 
          
 
A low whine answered. Left Hand lowered his
atlatl
. A dog. "Go on," he hissed. "Get out
of here. I don't need a dog to give me away."

 
          
 
The animal trotted closer and shoved its
muzzle into his hand. He bent down, peering into the darkness, and cocked his
head in disbelief. "Trouble? Is that you? How did you get here? Where's
Bad Belly?"

 
          
 
The dog snuffled happily and tried to lick him
in the face. Left Hand rose, shaking his head, and started down the trail
again, only to hear Trouble whine behind him.

 
          
 
"Go on," Left Hand waved irritably.
"You don't want any part of the Sun People." He bent down and
whispered threateningly, "They eat black-and-white dogs. Go."

 
          
 
He started down the trail once more, headed
west to circle through the trees and come in from the north of the camp meadow.
He stopped to study a small clearing before he stepped out into the open.
Trouble dashed past despite Left Hand's frantic effort to grab the dog.

 
          
 
Throat dry, he watched as Trouble bounded out
into the grass and low sage; he expected harsh shouts when Sun warriors spotted
the animal. Trouble stopped and looked back. Licking his lips, Left Hand edged
out of the protection of the trees. A faint glow lit the eastern horizon behind
him as the moon started to crest the mountains. He glanced around nervously and
hurried across to search for the place where the elk trail reentered the tangle
of black timber.

 
          
 
Trouble whined again, louder this time,
insistent.

 
          
 
Left Hand gasped his frustration and turned,
figuring he could throw something at the—His thoughts evaporated as a black
form slid out of the trees behind Trouble on silent feet. Even through the
darkness, Left Hand could feel those yellow eyes.

 
          
 
"Spirit wolf?"

 
          
 
The big animal stood watching him intently,
and Left Hand's soul prickled. The wolf turned away—blackness in shadow—and
disappeared into the trees on the east side of the clearing. Trouble started to
follow and stopped, one foot raised uncertainly.